“So good to see you!” George said for the hundredth time that morning. He reached out to shake the hand of William Schmidt, an old man from the Third Reality who Sato thought looked like someone three steps from death’s door. Sato stifled a yawn, wondering why George always made him do stuff like this with him.
They stood at the entrance to the large assembly hall, a wide auditorium cut into the stone with a stage in the front and a tinted window at the back overlooking the Grand Canyon. Sato knew they’d somehow camouflaged the windows in the complex, but it still seemed like a foolish thing. He could only imagine the news explosion that would happen if they were discovered.
The Big Meeting wasn’t scheduled to begin for another ninety minutes, but the Realitants had been pouring in for hours, wanting to meet and greet and speculate. Sato had never met such strange and diverse people in all his life, and couldn’t help but feel amazed at the sheer effort of maintaining such an organization.
A slender woman with flaming red hair entered the assembly hall next, enough makeup on her face to hide a dozen boils. She smiled as George shook her hand, then focused on Sato, nodding her head.
“Is this one of the new recruits?” she asked, her high voice filled with a creepy sweetness.
“Why, yes, yes, he is,” George replied, his voice loud and prideful. “Young Sato here has proven himself quite valuable in the last few months. A real worker, eh, Sato?”
Sato shook the lady’s hand. “Nice to meet you.” He wanted to add, Would you mind killing me, please? I’m bored.
“My name is Priscilla Persephone,” the redhead replied in her slightly disturbing, shrill voice. “I’ve heard great things about your mission to obtain Mistress Jane’s Barrier Wand. Good to know Master George can trust such . . . important duties to someone so young, instead of depending on veterans like myself.”
Priscilla gave George a hard stare, then walked off to grab a glass of orange juice and a pastry.
George mumbled something under his breath; it sounded like he’d used the words ugly hag and yapping dog.
“What did you say?” Sato asked.
George waved at the air. “Oh, nothing, Master Sato, nothing at all.”
The next person George greeted was a younger, much prettier woman named Nancy Zeppelin. Her golden hair and brilliant blue eyes made her look like she’d just stepped off a Paris fashion runway. Sato didn’t realize he was staring until George nudged him with an elbow.
“Oh, um, my name is Sato,” he said, feeling his face grow warm.
“Nice to meet you. Congratulations on joining the—”
Before she could finish, Rutger rushed into the auditorium, yelling George’s name, waddling like a fat duck trying to catch its ducklings before they crossed a busy road.
“Goodness gracious me,” George said, trying to calm the short man. “What is it, Rutger?”
Rutger spoke in short bursts, sucking in gasps of air between words. “Tick . . . and the others . . . their nanolocators . . . everything seems normal . . . at the cemetery . . . but it won’t work . . .”
George reached down and grasped Rutger by the shoulders. “Take a deep breath, man, then explain yourself.”
Rutger did as he was told, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. But when he spoke, it came out just like before. “I don’t understand . . . all their readings . . . normal . . . no malfunctions, no blips . . . but the Wand won’t wink them in. They’re standing there . . . waiting! It won’t work!”
George tapped his lips, looking down at Sato then at the mingling Realitants gathered in the assembly hall. His eyes seemed afire with concern. “Oh, dear.”
“What’s going on?” Sato asked.
“Unfortunately, I think I know exactly what’s going on.” George started walking toward the stage, his steps brisk.
Sato looked down at Rutger. “Do you?”
Rutger shook his head, his face so lined and creased that Sato worried he’d drop dead of a heart attack. He was about to say something when George’s voice boomed across the room, echoing off the walls. Sato turned to see George standing at a microphone on the stage.
“My fellow Realitants,” he announced. “This meeting must start immediately. Please, find anyone lingering in the halls, bring them here, and take your seats.”
“What’s wrong?” someone yelled from the audience.
George paused before answering. “We’ve had a violation of Rule Number 462.”
~
Tick fidgeted, rocking back and forth on his feet, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants. Sofia stood to his left, Paul to his right. The sun made its way toward the top of the sky, beating down on the cemetery with a ruthless heat. Tick hoped Master George would wink them away to a nice, cool place; he couldn’t wait to tell him about the bizarre incident in the woods with Mr. Chu. They’d seen no sign of him since, and several calls to the school had only hit the answering machine.
“Come on, already,” Paul muttered, looking up at the cloudless blue sky as if he expected Master George to float down in a balloon and pick them up. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to the air, “Yo! We’re ready! Wink us, man!”